Escape into the night
by J.Tading
Summary: James sirius potter hates being classed as his father's son he wants his father to be classed as his old man. Christopher Saunders is fed up of being a low class vampire and he will use a potter to gain his rightful place at the head of the vampire world.
1. Chapter 1

Warnings: This will involve slash. It also has quite a few british swear words in ok!

**Escape Into The Night**

**Prologue: A stormy beginning.  
**

The house was quiet for the moment. Nothing moved, nothing creaked and Harry Potter sat there enjoying it. The peace would not last long. The first day back to Hogwarts, the children running around making sure they had everything, James once more picking on his little brother. It was a comical routine that Harry never tired of. This was how families should be; this was how his family was. Sitting there, a tumbler of fire whiskey hanging loosely from his fingertips, he just relaxed; his eyes closing for the briefest of moments, his head lolling backwards and his breathing steadying. Soon it would be chaos. Soon he would be waving his children off to school, kissing his wife goodbye and going back to the office. Another tedious routine.

"Mum! James has unpacked my entire trunk again!" Albus's voice was high pitched and whining. It sounded slightly like Dudley those many years ago, but now Harry did not dread hearing it, instead he just smiled softly. The door to his office was shut firmly and yet he could hear everything.

"I only did it because you stole my favourite pair of jeans again! Albus they don't fit you so stop stealing them and will you give me back my bloody mobile. Just because you're not allowed one doesn't me I'm not!" James voice was deep now, no longer high pitched and mischievous. His son had grown up. Going into his last year of Hogwarts and already wanting to move out of the family home. Too noisy he often said, no privacy. Harry just knew that James was embarrassed by his parents, embarrassed that his parents were well known, embarrassed that Ginny still gave him a hug and kiss goodbye in front of his friends.

"Well it's not fair. I'm only a year younger then you and yet you got one and I didn't!"

"It's your own fault. You should have spent more time studying for your OWLS then having your head in the bloody clouds and arse on a broomstick!"

"James!" Ginny's voice was sharp. She hated him swearing, though she herself had a mouth like a sailor. Do as I say not as I do, was her motto.

"Sorry mum but it's true. He's just being a spoilt little brat. He's sixteen for Merlin's sake so he should grow up!"

"Like you? You're just like Uncle Percy."

"I would rather be like Uncle Percy then a sniffling, broomstick humping, moron like you." Harry could hear the aggravation in James's voice. Harry had to admit, James was good at insulting people. It was harsh, to the point and did not let Albus win. That was James all over. A desire to win. Nobody was ever right. He was right at all costs and would fight to the bitter end to prove so.

"James! Get down here." Harry called up the stairs. A stern voice, which was the only thing he had ever taken from Vernon Dursley. He knew that a stern voice could make a child cringe and he often used it on his boys. They had been boisterous when they were younger and he had frequently needed to keep them in line less they break anything, including their own bones.

"What?" He was sullen, annoyed and stubborn. That was James. Harry motioned for him to shut the door staying completely quiet. Some of the men in the auror department had teenagers and told him about what he should and shouldn't do in punishing them. None of it had worked.

"Don't what me."

"You wanted to see me?" He said, mockingly, a slight upturn of the lips showing his amusement at Harry trying to be strict. James was the son that was never afraid of authority, the rebel but unlike Harry's father or Harry himself, James hated any kind of authority. He didn't care if you were trying to help him, he didn't care if you were on his side. As soon as you told him to do something he would do the complete opposite. It was just his little quirk that Harry blamed Ginny for.

"Must you always treat your brother like that?"

"Well you don't punish him, neither does mum. He thinks he owns the place." Shrugging James looked him square in the eye. Tall and slightly intimidating, if Harry had not been his father and had faced the darkest wizard in history he just might have backed off. He still didn't know where James had gotten his height. Must be Ron's kid swapped at birth.

"So you need to put him in his rightful place?"

"Oh come off it dad. I'm not some criminal. Look he stole my mobile and my jeans, again might I add, and once again I'm getting in trouble for getting them back."

"I am the parent James. I do the punishing and getting things back. Not you. Why must you always do this? Why do you always have to get in trouble, cause fights and start arguments why can't you," here Harry stopped. If he went any further then there would be hell to pay but it was too late. James was not stupid, far from it and that same little grin pulled at his lips.

"Why can't I be like you? Why can't I be like Albus or Lily or even my dead grandfather? I've heard you talk about it with mum. I don't want to be like any of you. I want to be myself if you don't like it then that's your problem." With that he left the room. No look back, no anger, just a statement. It was as if he was talking about his grades at school, or what he wanted to do afterwards. Harry really was at his wits end. Picking up his tumbler he swirled it around the glass before tipping the entire contents down his throat. Welcoming the burn, he sighed once for good measure and left the room.

The house was chaos. Clothes were thrown everywhere, Ginny was trying to cook, clean and find Lily's history book all at once, Albus was trying to find that last piece of underwear that had somehow made its way down stairs and under their living room sofa, and James—well he was like normal running around pushing Albus out of the way to try and find his Arithmancy book that he had probably left under the sofa as well. Why they always found the most obscure things under the sofa, Harry didn't know. Maybe it was a magical thing.

"Morning," he muttered to his wife, slipping his arms around her waist, and kissing her cheek. Her hair smelt like roses. He always brought her that shampoo, it smelt the nicest and she always seemed to like it.

"Morning. You smell of alcohol. We don't have long so go and get changed and help your sons get their brooms," she was all business. Seeming to channel her mum and Harry had always been slightly in awe at the talent of the Weasley women keeping boisterous males in check. Saluting her mockingly, he turned, handed his daughter the jumper that had been hanging on the edge of the banister and walked up the stairs to his bedroom. The sounds filtered up the stairs and through his closed door. In a matter of hours his house would once more be silent, he and his wife only seeing each other in the evenings as they busied themselves with their work. Was this how all parents felt? Although it had been a routine for seven years it was still a strange experience, something he didn't like nor did he look forward to. What he would do when all of the children had flown the nest he didn't know. He was hoping he could at least keep his little girl with him forever but he knew that wouldn't happen.

Although part of his worry was natural. Just a worried parent sending his kids off to school for a year, there was another fear at the back of his mind. There were dark stirrings in the political world. Another ministry had come forward. Although Harry and the ministry had known about vampires, knew that they existed, no wizard knew that the vampires had their own ministry, their own laws, and their own world. It had frightened everyone including Shacklebolt the man who always seemed to stay calm under pressure. They had all thought that vampires were evil creatures who only thought about sucking blood, allergic to garlic and sunlight. Suddenly a new breed came forward calling themselves, Sanguinatus vampires. Apparently they were born vampires, age like mortals and any time after their twenty-fifth birthday can stop the aging process. They were eloquent, intelligent and organised. In that moment Harry had realised that if they were enemies it could be dangerous and he knew that Shacklebolt had felt the same. The vampires had seemed to sense this.

"We don't wish to harm you. What we want is an alliance between our two ministries. However we shall not settle for second-class citizenship. Equality or nothing else," their designated speaker, a grey haired, balding vampire, had told them. Not all of them were good looking or had ethereal beauty. From what the vampires explained, they were like mortals, they had different features, some were good looking some weren't and some chose to age past their fifties while others chose to stay looking like their twenties forever. It was a vampire's choice. In all Harry thought it was very confusing.

"And if we don't agree?" Shacklebolt had not been intimidated. He was not one to be told what to do by someone he didn't know nor respect.

"It would be detrimental for you to not agree. You seem under the idea that we are like those useless and ridiculous vampires you see in the movies and read in books. We are stronger then you, we are faster then you and we can destroy you with a flick of our wrist." The speaker was calm, his thin lips pulling back in a mocking smile, brown eyes sparkling in enjoyment. Harry wanted to smack him, that grin was just so patronizing.

"Is that a threat?"

"Good man. Do you really believe that we would come all this way to get into a fight with you? Stop thinking with your macho testosterone and start thinking with your head." Sharp admonishment that cowed one of the ministers, so much that his shoulders slumped and he stepped back. Harry didn't mind, that minister was a twat.

Sitting there on his bed, his legs crossed at the knee, his elbows leaning on them, he looked at the door. It was strange that the vampires had suddenly decided to appear now. Leaning backwards, his eyes closing and his mind churning he thought over what this could mean. He was too old to go into another war, too tired. He could just see himself as Dumbledore fighting in another war until the other side got lucky and killed him first. That lifestyle was not for him. He wanted to watch his children grow and marry, have grandchildren and die in his sleep. Simple really.

"Harry," Ginny was calling, frazzled and probably at the end of her tether. Smiling to himself he stood up, grabbed his jacket and slipped it on, his black hair still messy, and running into the bathroom down the hall, he quickly brushed his teeth.

"Dad." Now James was calling. How that boy could one minute be so calm and anti-social and the next perfectly normal and loveable was completely beyond Harry. At least Albus and Lily were easier to understand. If they were all like James he would most probably be at the bottom of a bottle everyday. He loved his son dearly but the boy was so troublesome and confusing.

"I'm coming, I'm coming."

"Well mum said if you are not down there in five seconds then you are in the doghouse."

"I have to clean my teeth."

"Just telling you what she said."

"She has a name."

"Fine I'm just telling you what mum said," James turned sighing as if it was an effort and walked off, his back straight, his walk confident. Harry knew that James was one of the more popular boys, probably because of his heritage, something that Harry apologised for but couldn't change. Albus was proud and so was Lily but James seemed to think it was more of a chore. That boy was an oddity.

"Dad can we go now?" Albus stood by him. Having the drawn look of growing too fast Harry was often reminded of himself. Everyone considered Albus the younger Harry with the fact that he loved flying, however Albus was amazing at Herbology and whilst a Gryffindor, he still preferred to stick to himself, avoiding all arguments and fights, classifying them as petty moreover not very fun. At times, he reminded Harry of Neville. Strange how that happened. Maybe all of his children were swapped at birth.

"Just a minute. Have you got everything? Double check the lists that your mother gave you," they had realised that no matter how much they packed and repacked they often forgot something. So Ginny had written a list for each child, what they wanted, needed and didn't need. They never forgot anything important again; though they often wrote home asking for this or that. James had jokingly written home and asked his father to get him some muggle porn. Apparently one of his muggle born friends had suggested Nuts magazine and Playboy. Ginny had sent a howler worthy of her mother. He never mentioned porn again. Harry knew that he hid it very well.

"Yup."

"Of course."

"Mum I'm not like them I already packed weeks ago. It was only that one book I was missing." The boys rolled their eyes, grinning at each other in a moment of mutual camaraderie against a common enemy. Lily was the youngest, smartest and although he wouldn't admit it, Harry's favourite. She was his little girl and she always made sure that everybody knew she was Daddy's girl. It was teasing her that caused the two boys to ever join forces.

"Humour me." Ginny looked through her own checklist. Harry watched it all with a sense of dread. A sense he had not had since he had been a student. Would this all change, would his children become soldiers in a war that could have been averted. He felt tired already. This year was going to be tough; his frazzled nerves would most probably get worse over the year, his one glass of fire whiskey probably becoming two or three. His children would be in the direct line for any war that might happen, if anything went wrong then his children were on the firing line and for the first time in years, Harry Potter was terrified.

"You do know that Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione will probably be there already?" Albus looked up from his ticked checklist. It was true, Hermione had every one of her children packed and ready to go three weeks in advance so there was no mess, and no confusion. Ron just willingly went along with her, muttering about how it made his life so much easier and in the years that they had been together he had been well trained.

"Then we best get going. If you have forgotten something I won't send it to you because it'll be your own fault," Ginny folded her arms over her chest, face settled in a glare, her red hair framing her face and Harry laughed, kissed her on the cheek ignoring the gagging from his children and pushed her slightly towards the door. Giving him a suffering look, she acquiesced and started to bustle her children out the door.

"James come here a moment please."

"What is it now? Please don't say it's another one of those 'don't pick on your brother' speeches," he said in a flippant tone, arms folded across his chest and his rosy lips turned down at the edges.

"No James. Keep any eye on Lily and Albus for me please."

"I'm not going to be their babysitter."

"I don't mean that. Just make sure they don't get in any trouble and," here Harry stopped. What he would say next would be a severe breach in confidentiality and if he didn't word it correctly his son would do the complete opposite.

"And?" brown eyes stared reproachfully forward.

"And keep an eye on the new professor," he had said it. Harry knew that there was going to be two new teachers at Hogwarts, he knew that one whilst having a murky background was no threat, the other could destroy everything he held dear and it was he who Harry was warning him against without saying names and going against the rules of being an auror even if he was head of department in addition to being close friends with the minister.

"Ok. Dad I think you've been drinking too much whisky," with that James turned, shoved a bag over his shoulder, grabbed his trunk and dragged it out of the house. Once again the house was silent. Once again he was left to his own thoughts, once again he was cursing his bad luck and once again he just wished his son would listen to him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Authors Note: Thank you for the reviews that was really nice. Hope you like this chapter. It's introducing the vampire side.**

**WARNINGS: INVOLVES BLOOD DRINKING, SWEARING. SLASH-_ISH_  
**

**Chapter 2: A Vital Pawn  
**

Sitting against the wall, his head down, and eyes closed, Christopher Rhea Saunders counted the minutes once more. There was nothing else to do. No windows and no doors that he could see through, there was nothing to entertain him until it was feeding time. At which point a warm bag was shoved through the slot at the bottom of the reinforced grey door. He only wished he could receive more than five pints of blood once every three days. However, he knew it was to keep each prisoner at his or her weakest. They were not able to fight, to put up resistance and those who had been born vampires were always near a constant state of death. Bloody sadists the council were.

Five thousand, four hundred and sixty three. That had been the amount of minutes since his last feeding. He couldn't even sleep, constantly wired, the blood laced with drugs to keep them awake and repenting their actions. He was treated like a murderer, he was treated like a rapist and he was treated like one who had committed high treason against Cronus himself. All he had done was listen to a very private and confidential conversation. That was it. Now he had been thrown in jail, nothing being said, no questions asked. No one cared that he was in here; he was sure that his sister didn't even know that he was arrested. Instead she would believe the lies that the council often told. Now he understood the corruption in the ministry. This would teach him for often saying that it was not his business.

Moving slightly to sit in a crouch, he placed his elbows on his knees and buried his head in his hands. Five thousand, four hundred and sixty four. There was no sound; no dripping noises to keep him company and it was that silence that often caused many prisoners to become insane. To hear nothing apart from his own breathing, his own movements—it was horrible. He missed the outside world already. Missed the humans brushing up against him, the girls sharing his bed as he drank from them and the feeling of stalking his prey. Now he was weak, waiting for his next feeding, his body tingling in anticipation although it would not be for a while.

"Stand back from the door, and face the back wall, arms behind your back." The voice was robotic, cold and not one to be disobeyed. Standing up, a heavy groan coming from his lips as he did so, Christopher did as he was told. Placing his arms behind his back, he leaned his face against the wall, a strong, reinforced material that was bullet-proof and vampire proof. It was cool even against his cooling skin and he closed his eyes; but whilst his body was screaming in tiredness the drugs kept him awake, kept him in that constant state of unrest and he listened as the door was forced open with a grunt from three different guards.

"Do not move. If you do you shall be killed." They were not lying. Christopher heard the horror stories and he was too tired, too frustrated to move anyway. He would soon be finding out what the problem was, why he had been arrested just for listening to a conversation. That is what he decided to focus on. Finally he might have some bloody answers. He hated not knowing.

He felt the sharp sting of the pewter against his skin. Christopher gritted his teeth, closed his eyes and tried to block out the pain as his wrists burned and bubbled against the onslaught of the one material all vampires were allergic towards. He allowed himself to be turned and pushed forward.

"Keep moving 794."

"I'm going alright. Tell me Murray how's your wife? The kids ok?" Christopher knew the guard. In fact he had been under his guidance when he started his first job as a bodyguard, centuries ago.

"Marie is doing fine. She's expecting our fifth and Damon well, he's going straight to the top, and Theia herself is his mentor." Pride was clear in his voice although he continued to shove Christopher roughly through the prison. Yet he often helped steady him when he tripped or his body shook in protest.

"That's good. Tell them congratulations from me. I would buy them a present but I'm kind of busy at the minute," Christopher replied, throwing a soft smile over his shoulder. Murray smiled and softened his shoving; just enough so the other guards didn't question it. Christopher knew how to manipulate them.

"So where am I going?"

"I'm not allowed to tell you. All I know is that the order comes from above. A part of your clan."

"Rhea himself then." Christopher sighed. Rhea was a sick bastard when it came to punishment. He was the darkest and cruellest, everyone knew it. The fact that Rhea was the head of the clan that Christopher belonged to meant that Christopher was royally screwed. Rhea hated someone embarrassing him.

"It was nice knowing ya."

"It was nice knowing myself as well." He wasn't scared, just nervous about his punishment. It was bound to be annoying, painful and not at all exciting. He wouldn't make the rumours and he wouldn't become a hero. Just another nameless face punished for the '_sake of the vampire community and its protection_.' What a load of bull crap.

His head was shoved down at the last moment, his arms pulled back sharply and the pewter pressed once more against his skin. He hissed; his teeth grinding together and his eyes closing as he tried to ride the wave of pain. Large doors opened before him, an ominous thudding sound shook the floor as they landed against the wall. His hair being pulled brought his head up and watering eyes forced to look forward at the desk before him. Large tomes leaned precariously on the left, a computer on the right and a notebook right in the centre.

"We brought him sir."

"Thank you Murray. Wish your wife congratulations from me," the voice was calm and slippery, like honey. A tone of voice that washed over other vampires, that could make them fall asleep and feel comforted. Looking up, his back bent by the force of one of the guards, he watched as the towering form of Rhea loped in from the back of the room. It was for dramatics, for them to know that he was the power, but to Christopher it made him look like a theatrical moron.

"Of course, sir. Thank you, sir." Humbled and a little awed that such a leader could know about his wife, Murray was almost glowing. Christopher rolled his eyes.

"Why don't you just fuck him and get it over with?" he murmured under his breath. He received a sharp back hand across his face; his entire skull rattled and his teeth bit into his tongue. Hungrily, he swallowed his own blood. It helped soothe some of his dry, scratching throat.

"You should show respect Christopher. You are in a lot of trouble after all," the soft voice said as a hand stroked across his stinging cheek. It was to make him feel comfortable and also on guard; to confuse, conquer and all that. Christopher just thought that it made Rhea look old, stupid and redundant. He had learned this when he was young. When he conned his way into the rich courtesans houses, laying with the wives, marrying the daughters, and keeping the money. Yet never being hated. A manipulator could never be manipulated and yet Rhea seemed to have forgotten that. Looking up, his eyes stinging at the force of the angle, he noticed that Rhea wasn't even looking at him as he stroked his face. He was looking at the other guards.

'_Clever man'_ he thought to himself. Rhea was doing it to show the guards his power, to make them think that he only punished for a good reason. That he cared deeply for his own. Clever, clever man.

"Will you be alright with him sir?" Murray was a suck up. He always followed those in power but never led himself.

"Do you doubt me Mr Murray?" his voice was soft and yet controlling. If Murray answered wrong then he would anger Rhea. A dangerous consequence.

"Of course not, sir."

"Then don't you have jobs to be getting back to?" Again it was soft. Christopher closed his eyes; his body almost dropping were it not for the hand holding his chin in a vice like grip. He couldn't sleep, his mind wired, his body tense and yet exhausted. It was so painful. As the footsteps from the guards faded, Christopher squeezed his eyes together tightly.

Five…

Any second now.

Four…

Rhea was going to kill him. There were no witnesses after all.

Three…

Would anyone miss him? He wished that he done something to be remembered for.

Two…

Being a con artist for centuries had its drawbacks; staying in the background and under the radar to constantly go from one place to another. He was going to be forgotten about. Biting his bottom lip, he kept his eyes closed.

One…

As if hearing the inner countdown, Rhea picked Christopher up and swung him into the room. It was like someone with a shot-put, turning and letting go. Flying for a few seconds, Christopher did not open his eyes. He landed painfully against the heavy oak bookcase. His burning wrists pressed beneath the weight of his body causing Christopher to cry out. It hurt. His t-shirt had ridden up and his back was victim to the pewter. He could smell his own flesh burning. It was not serious; it wouldn't kill him from this small amount but he would look sunburnt and blistered for a couple of weeks.

"You stupid little idiot. Do you know how embarrassing it is having one of my own being caught eavesdropping? How are old you—ten?" Rhea's voice was angry, seething and it no longer had that honey like tone. Instead it was sharp, making Christopher cringe from the sound. Like nails on a chalkboard. He wished he knew how to make his voice like that.

"I don't even know what it was about." He wouldn't swear. To swear would show that he was aggravated and feeling high emotion. He wouldn't let Rhea win although Rhea was much stronger then him.

"You do though don't you my dear Christopher. A smart boy like you knows how to keep information hidden. In your mind ready to use at a moments notice," the honey like voice was back and Christopher instantly opened his eyes. A hand was weaving into his caramel coloured hair, the fingers wrapping in the strands. Blue eyes widened as his head was pulled up. His body following and he wished to reach up to loosen the fingers pulling at his hair. If his hair was pulled out it would not grow back. He would have a constant bald patch that would make him stand out.

Standing out made him a target. Standing out could mean death.

"I don't know anything Rhea," act the fool. Act the idiot. Act Innocent. If he did that then Rhea would go easy on him. Think of him as nothing but an idiot in the wrong place at the wrong time; an idiot who could only manipulate and con those younger and weaker then him. Not a threat.

The truth was that Christopher knew exactly what had been said. He knew exactly what each member of the vampire council thought about a proposition to another world. It was just that he couldn't understand what it would mean. Maybe if he acted stupid and naïve about it, then Rhea would let slip what it was about, just enough so that he could understand what it meant.

"You are a lying little child and you know it." A soft, mocking voice floated over him. It clashed with the hand pressing hard against his throat as he was shoved hard into the bookcase. His cuffed hands caught at a harsh angle, his shoulder dislocating itself with a pop.

Agony. Whilst it was hard to kill vampires, almost impossible by an amateur, they still felt pain and could still suffer. His shoulder had popped out, the pain of it telling him so and then numbness spread as his arm flopped. It put pressure on his other arm that was trapped in the same position due to the cuffs.

"Now tell me, my child, what did you hear?" He was let loose, the hand once more coming to stroke the side of his face. Lips drawn together and eyes closed, Christopher ignored the mind entering his. Ignored the feeling of intrusion and hid what he had heard. Hid it below visions of women screaming beneath him, hid it beneath the pain of his wrists and shoulder, and hid it beneath absolute awe for Rhea himself.

Rhea was a genius. Intelligent, powerful, bloodthirsty and feared. Rhea was also a complete and utter egotistical, self centred and narcissistic prat. Christopher knew that once Rhea knew that he was in awe of him, he would pull back feeling good about himself. Too predictable.

"I didn't hear anything, my lord. Just in the wrong place at the wrong time," Christopher sounded humbled, gritting his teeth as Rhea stroked his hand down the side of his face and down his dislocated arm.

He screamed. A sharp, spine-tingling scream as his shoulder was forced back into place, his body arching and tensing. He dropped. Rhea was no longer holding him, no longer supporting him. Thinking that Christopher knew nothing about what the meeting had been about, Rhea thought of him as non-important and returned to his desk. His large, oaf like form folding almost into half as he sat in an ergonomic, leather chair. Fingers pressed together before him as he waited for Christopher to kneel. His body doubled over; his forehead pressed against the wooden floor as he tried to get under control. The blood was rushing to his pained shoulder, binding the tendons back together so it would be useable and he knew that if he survived this he would need about two humans to fully heal and be back at full strength. The oxygen gained from the blood given was slowly drying up; his mind feeling fuzzy and his muscles having lactic acid building up.

"Get up Christopher. My patience is wearing thin."

Christopher thought that Rhea was worse then a girl on PMS. His mood constantly changed, his voice changing with it. Yet he knew it was a form of manipulation. If his temper kept changing one could never figure him out. Could never get use to him and at worst would underestimate. It was a perfect manipulation, one that Christopher was also getting quite good at; though he preferred a more subtle approach.

Shifting his legs, he brought his bare feet up. They had not allowed him to wear his shoes. To wear shoes was to be individual. They all wore the same; black cotton trousers and a black t-shirt. That was it. Every single vampire in the prison wore the same thing and as such lost all individuality. All tattoos were burned or cut off so that when the skin grew back it would be unmarked. No one was allowed to be anything other then a number, an inmate. It was only in front of the leaders that they were given their names back. It made them lose all of their fighting spirit. It was perfect.

"What are you going to do with me?" his voice was croaking and he gave a dry cough. From the screaming and the lack of blood, his throat was red raw.

"I'm going to use your talents to my own advantage, of course." The tone was honey like once more, the smirk cat like and Christopher, gingerly moved forwards.

"Maybe we should get those cuffs off you—should we not?" without an answer from Christopher he pressed a button under his desk and Murray once more came in. He did not look at the broken bookcase. He did not look at the bruised Christopher, for vampires could bruise like humans with enough force; he just nodded and saluted Rhea briskly.

"Please take the cuffs off the prisoner 794 and bring in a fresh blood bag. Wizarding OB negative if you don't mind." Murray saluted and quickly took the handcuffs of Christopher who gingerly brought his aching arms around to his front and rubbed at his burnt wrists. The thin red line circling them was blistered and although the redness was not as bad as it should be, he knew the blisters would be there for a few more days. The one on his back even longer probably.

Taking a seat, which was uncomfortable and imposing in its own right, Christopher said nothing. He chose to wait, with saliva collecting in his mouth at the thought of wizarding OB negative. It was a blood type that all vampires wished for. A blood type only the rich and powerful could get. Perfect, strong, with a punch that would wake you up. At the same time it could make even the most battered vampire heal quicker and survive a pewter stake through the heart. Christopher knew this was a peace offering. Telling him that he could have this, that Rhea would look after him if he did as he was told. For now he was willing to go along with it.

"Drink, then we shall talk." Rhea's voice was calm and once Christopher was handed the warm bag, he didn't need any prompting. Curved, wolf like canines extended, his blue eyes turning into a frosty, early morning colour, and lifting the bag to his lips bit into it.

It was like a firework, like that moment at the very peak of climaxing. He closed his eyes as the blood rushed down his sore throat. He could almost envision the blood singing and dancing in his veins as it reached his wrists, his back, his sore shoulders and tired muscles. His whole body was tense, taut and feeling stronger then ever. Sex couldn't even relate to drinking this blood. It was why killing and drinking from a wizard was illegal. Once you had that drop of fresh, heart beating blood you lusted for more. You couldn't stop yourself and that was why some vampires who had not learnt this rule had shown themselves breaking all rules of privacy and secrecy to get one more taste, one more fix.

"It's delicious isn't it? The feeling of the blood singing in your veins. Imagine what it could be like from a freshly beating heart." Christopher could hear the voice but he would not open his eyes. Although the bag had been finished, although he let it drop, sagging and empty onto the floor, he could still feel the blood singing in his veins. Licking at his lips and finally feeling as if he could breathe once more, Christopher decided to ignore Rhea for a little bit longer. His mind was finally functioning properly, his eyes opening returning to their natural, bright, fire blue. His teeth returning to normal, mortal size and he looked at Rhea, a lazy smirk on his lips.

"Now my dear lord, tell me what it is you wish of me to do," he was mocking the leader and Rhea nodded. His hands like a steeple under his chin; his amber eyes narrowing in a predatory smile.

"So you finally understand."

"Why else would you share with me such an expensive vintage, if you did not wish something of me in return. That blood is forbidden to ones such as myself."

"My dear Christopher I knew there was a reason why I chose you."

"Not because I was supposedly listening to a conversation?" He leaned back, his arms resting on the chair's arms and feet flat on the floor. To cross his legs or arms would show a defensive stature and would tell Rhea that he was the more dominant.

"That is neither here nor there. You will do what I wish of you. If not then you shall go down with the nosferatu."

Christopher grimaced slightly. The Nosferatu were the made vampires that all mortals imagined them to be. The type of vampire Bram stoker and the first vampire movies made them out to be. Drawn, creature like and constantly thirsting for blood. They had no voice, they had no thoughts and they had no reason for living apart from that one drop of glorious blood.

The made vampires all feared to become like them, which they did if they did not drink blood within three days. The longer they starved, the more they became like the nosferatu. The Sanguinatus vampires had no such fear. After three days of thirsting they would die. Just like a mortal without water. Yet if a Sanguinatus vampire was within ten feet of a nosferatu they were considered a food source. Especially the still aging vampires who were still living; their hearts beating and their lungs taking in air.

"What is it?"

"Cronus himself has decided that it's best for us to join with the wizarding world," he said it bluntly and straight to the point. There was no small talk.

"The wizarding world? Doesn't that break all of the codes of privacy and secrecy from the first Cronus, all those millennia ago?"

"Yes, well, apparently the blood reserves are getting low and Cronus feels that if we join with the wizarding world, then we can gain more power. More reserves of the special blood and of course a powerful ally should our enemies decide to declare war."

"The wizarding world is our enemy. They hate anything different. They believe us to be exactly like how the mortals believe. Cronus can not be serious?"

"He is. He has in fact had Coeus already contact the wizarding ministry and they have agreed a precarious treaty. One of our own will go to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for one year to prove that we are no danger," here Rhea stopped, looking at Christopher straight on.

"So you chose me. Why not one of Theia's lot?"

"Theia would not allow one of her own to go to the mortal world. She likes her secrecy more than Cronus himself. No, it must be one of mine and you are the lucky participant." He stopped, his smile once more like a cat as he stood up and walked around his desk, to tower over Christopher.

Christopher did not bend his neck to look up. He looked straight ahead at Rhea's stomach and thought it through. He had no idea what the Sanguinatus leader was thinking. At 1000 years old, Cronus was slowly losing the plot as was Rhea and the rest of the council to even consider such a bad idea as this. Mortals were not good at accepting those that were different and much more powerful then themselves. The vampires were such beings. That was why they had disappeared from the eyes of both worlds back in the times of the Titans and the Olympians.

Allowing the mortals and wizards to think that Zeus the first great wizard had defeated him, Cronus had gathered his children into his arms and ushered them underground. They built their own society, co-existing with the mortal world and blending in, becoming invisible. The children Sanguinatus went to mortal school, they got mortal jobs and decided what age they wanted to stop aging after 25 when their bodies had fully developed.

It had been that long since anyone had known of more then the childish made vampires who, not understanding what they were, would kill a wizard and lust for the blood after, killing more and more. That was the only way they were known about in the first place. Looking at the man in front of him, and not even twitching as a hand once more came and stroked the side of his now warm and rosy skin, an effect of drinking blood. He thought it all through. To do this would put him in good stead with Rhea and the rest of the council. It would put him in the frontline, knowing all the information and knowing the best way to save his own arse. It would also protect his sister.

Allowing his face to be turned and his neck on show, he did nothing as Rhea bent his body and extending his own fangs bit sharply into his neck.

"I'll do it." He could feel the lips almost smile around his neck. He could feel Rhea's happiness with him as he was lifted and crushed against him. The fresh wizarding blood he just drank being withdrawn from him once again, so that his wounds returned. Rhea was taking back what he had given him; showing that he had absolute control. Not for long. Christopher was eyeing the position. He could see himself being the next Rhea but for now he would let the leader have his way.

As the lights went out and he was pushed onto the table, fangs still in his neck, he shut his eyes. Soon, very soon he would play a game with the council. No one messed with him and got away with it. That little conversation would be very dangerous if Cronus himself found out about it.

"You leave tomorrow." And with that Rhea pierced the other side of Christopher's neck, wrapped his hand tightly in his hair and trailed his other hand.

Just a little longer and it would be him in control.

Just a little longer and Rhea would be dead.

Just a little longer and Cronus himself would be begging him for forgiveness.

Just a little longer.


End file.
